Vestige of Sagacity
by tumescentline
Summary: The 66th Hunger Games. Following the widespread success of the 65th Games, with Finnick Odair being crowned the youngest victor ever, the odds are definitely not in Rigby Rey's favour as she is reaped in her last year of eligibility and taken on a harrowing journey full of turmoil, pain and loss. Rated T for language/themes, constructive criticism more than welcome.
**I've got a lot of spare time on my hands, so I decided I'd get back into this, which I started a few months ago.**

 **I hardly ever write in 3rd person, yet I like to stick to the author's style of writing when doing a fic, so here you have it.**

 **T rating for language, and violent themes, obviously. I've not written in a long time, so I'd really appreciate some feedback. Enjoy! :)**

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My fingers work deftly as they attempt to repair the relative damage made to the would-be dress hem. I throw a glare to the destructive menace that caused the strands of knots and twists. My father, bottle near hand, attempts to take a look at the innards of the pathetic excuse of a sewing machine, but his hands shake too much.

At 11 in the morning, he's not yet drunk, yet years of alcohol abuse have rendered his hands far from useful. My brother, Ronan, places his hand on my Father's shoulder, indicating he's probably a more suitable candidate to take on the machine.

"Its probably just the electricity playing up again," He says as he removes the old plastic.

"Not today," says Roma, having obviously just woken up, emerging from our room, leaning on the door frame. "They'd make sure its on all day; so the Reaping goes off without a hitch."

Dad flinches, lounges in the couch and takes a swig. None of us mind, not today, not on the day that essentially claimed both his younger brother's lives in previous games. It isn't easy having 3 children you could lose either, Ronan and Roma both made it without being reaped, and I'm hoping I will as well.

The pale green fabric is very smooth in my hands, and with great concentration, I eventually repair all semblance of technical error. I drape the dress over the back of the couch, ready to change into later.

"You've your Mother's hands," my Father smiles, his mouth broadening as said Mother sits next to him, careful to avoid the dress, draping her legs across his lap.

"I couldn't have done it better myself, you're going to look beautiful," she says, a reassuring smile passes her lips.

"Thanks Mum," I give her a kiss on the cheek on my way to the kitchen, whose bench also serves as a sewing centre, and occasional dining table. Whilst we own our fabrics shop, we make nowhere near enough money to afford a house and basic living needs, therefore we live above the shop. The lounge and kitchen are both connected, a small bathroom, existing of a toilet and small bathing tub, takes up another corner of the flat, leaving two tiny rooms that serve as bedrooms, one for my parents, and the other for us 3 children.

It was probably growing up in the same tiny room that formed the tight bond that exists between myself and my 2 brothers. We know everything there is to know about one another, Roma and myself knew Ronan was going to propose to his girlfriend months before he told our parents. I only share the room with Roma now though, as Ronan shares a tiny shack on the school grounds with his fiancee. They're both teachers at the school, so they rent their living space, as many of the teachers do, as its very cheap.

Our Reaping days are always spent as a family, hence Ronan's presence. He's still trying to see what the problem with the sewing machine is, prodding wires and pulling stray threads that have found an unusual home in the many years the machine has been in use. The fabric shop has been in my Mother's family for generations, hence why our one sewing appliance is so old.

I grind some coffee beans and throw the grinds into water on the stove to boil.

"You doing coffee?" Roma asks, having sat himself down at the table some time ago to watch me fix my dress.

"Yeah, we're out of milk though," I reply, knowing this will goad him into bartering with our next door neighbour for some, as he refuses to drink the stuff without it.

My suspicions confirmed, he grunts and hurries down the stairs, shop bells ringing as he enters the street. Ronan and I give each other a look, smirking as he returns to his work. Roma's been attempting to woo the sweet maker's daughter for months now, and Ronan and myself force him over there every chance we can.

The sweet shop sits next to us, its owners living in the same predicament we do, they're actually quite good friends of ours, hence Roma's attachment to their oldest daughter, Celia. They're basically official, but she dotes on her little sister and wants to wait until she's 19 so she can't be reaped, which I can understand. Said sister, Emelia, is in my year at school, and we're quite close.

The room darkens and we all turn towards the one window, which faces the town square. A red banner, probably bearing the Capitol emblem is being hanged.

"They could just ask us to shut the curtains," My mum jokes. Its sort of a running joke, when people send us clothing to repair, sometimes we're near out of precious fabrics, so instead we rip some off the curtains, which are now in tatters. A lot of the buildings in the town centre aren't pleasing to the eye, especially to the Capitol, hence why banners are hanged on almost every building, to hide the obvious cracks and abnormalities. Apparently being able to see into our living room doesn't sit well with the Capitol either.

Roma eventually returns with a small amount of milk and we all sit down for coffee and our pre-arranged lunch, consisting of seeded bread, goat's cheese and fresh rabbit meat, which we receive weekly from a seam man in trade for warm clothes in the winter. Butcher meat is almost never affordable for us, so we settle for trading with illegal hunters who brave the woods and peacekeepers.

I begin to get nervous as it nears 1 o'clock. Dad refuses to let us take any tesserae, which significantly lessens my chances, yet I'm always terrified my name will be drawn.

Ronan only ever suggested getting tessera once, when we had a particularly cold, harsh winter, where many in the Seam perished and even those better off than us were starving, but Dad's reaction and Mum's quiet explanation afterwards made us bear through our suffering.

Dad was from the Seam and he had been taking tesserae since he turned 12. He'd always tried to protect his brothers, not letting them apply, but after he'd turned 18, both of them were forced to as coal production was low and Dad was unable to support them with as little work as he was getting. Even though many in the Seam probably had their names in more times, his first brother got reaped one year after Roma was born.

It absolutely devastated him, but with a 4 year old and a newborn to care for, he returned to the mines the same day the cannon fired.

Two years later, his youngest brother fell victim to the Hunger Games, and I was born a few weeks after. Even with a new bundle of joy, his only girl, the effects of his loss started to show. He became withdrawn, depressed, and took up the drink. Even though he was still a great father, my mum was trying to look after 3 kids while managing a shop, and he could barely make a weeks worth of work in the mines because he was too hungover or drunk. I think Ronan still harbours some resentment for him, seeing as he had to step up and help Mum with Roma, myself and the shop. But sometimes, I try to imagine what life would be like without Ronan and Roma, if they had been reaped and murdered in the games, and I find myself admiring my Father's resolve and continuance to live, as I don't believe I could have done the same in his place.

Our Mother quietly whispered to us on that winter night, after Dad had cried, pleaded and yelled at Ronan to never suggest such a thing again, eventually closing himself off in his room as his emotions overwhelmed him. She told us the true extent of our Father's depression, why he never talks about his family, and silently, without even a look at each other, us 3 children made a pact to help more.

Myself and Ronan began to help Mum weave fabrics and repair clothes when we weren't at school. Roma wasn't old enough to go to the mines yet, so he found work chopping firewood for families down in the Seam, seeing as he fits in so well. He's the only one that got our Father's Seam looks, the grey eyes, tanned skin, and black hair. Whilst Ronan and I both have Mother's brown hair and green eyes. That's where the resemblance stops however, as I also inherited the tanned skin, while Ronan is as pale as our Mother, and both brothers are easily over 6'4, while I barely reach 5'9.

Our plates have been empty for half an hour before Mum suggests I should get ready for the reaping. It starts at 2, but they always want to have us standing ready at 1:30, so I rise and retrieve my dress from the couch. I've just finished changing when there is a knock on the door. I let Ronan in and sit on the edge of my bed.

"It looks so much bigger with only you two sleeping here now," he laughs, sitting next to me. He looks me over and hands me a brown paper bag, one he arrived with today and refused to let any of us see inside of.

"For me?" I ask, pleasantly surprised, as gifts are a rarity in District 12.

"Well I missed your birthday and it is your last reaping so," he places his arm around my shoulders. "Melanie came up with the idea and we saved up for a few months."

I excitedly reach into the bag an pull out a brown package. "This isn't going to be like pass the parcel is it?"

"Just open it," He chuckles.

As I unfold the brown paper, I'm nearly overwhelmed with happiness. For as long as I can remember, the only shoes I've ever had have been my brothers before me, being either to big or almost wrecked. I've never had a pair that have fit me or were even remotely pleasing to the eye, so when I see a new pair of grey leather oxford style lace-ups, I squeal and wrap my arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I yell into his ear and pull away, I immediately shove my socked feet into them, sighing as they fit with near perfection. I stand up and twirl.

"Do I look okay?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, Roma and I will have to fight all the boys away from you," He jokes, I playfully punch his arm and walk out into the hallway.

"I'll never be able to get a boyfriend with you two idiots hovering over me," I exclaim as we enter the living area.

Roma smiles broadly, "Nice shoes," I think he's actually happy to see me in shoes that weren't once his. "Shame about the face though." I roll my eyes and hit him on the way to show Mum the new additions to my feet.

"You look beautiful darling, and the shoes match your dress, let your hair down though," She says after she finishes admiring my shoes. I go and sit next to Dad, who's placed himself back in the couch, letting my hair out of its tie which falls to my waist.

"Can I put a braid in your fringe?" He asks. Strangely enough, Dad has a real knack with hair, and loves to style Mum's and my own hair. I think it helps calm him after being in the mines most of the week, coming home and goading our hair into complex braids. I nod and face him. His hands shake a lot, and it takes him longer than it should, but when he's finished and placed a pin,my hair is out of my face in a neat braid, and strategically placed wisps of hair frame my face. He smiles and it reaches his eyes, before he sulks slowly back into the couch with a pained expression, I can only guess he realised what he's doing my hair for. If it wasn't compulsory, he'd be happy to stay at home and try and lose himself in the couch, to try and forget what this day has done to him twice.

I squeeze his hand before I rise, and walk to the bathroom. Green eyes stare back at me as I examine myself in the tiny mirror. I've got looks that other girls would kill for, but usually I don't make much of an effort with my appearance, not when I know Head Peacekeeper Cray's eyes follow me, especially since I turned 18.

He's always seedy whenever I encounter him in the hob, making remarks on my looks that make me consider smashing a bottle over his face. Dad makes his own alcohol, and I sell the leftovers in the hob. Cray is always the first to buy, but I think that's less because of me and more because he's the second biggest alcoholic in District 12, followed closely by my Dad, but widely surpassed by Haymitch, District 12's only living victor.

To me, Cray is the human embodiment of disgust, luring young girls to his bed with the promise of money or food. Mostly they're from the Seam, but the last few winters have been very harsh, and I've known many a merchant girl to do the same, including Roma's Celia. He knows, but he doesn't think less of her. The sweetshop makes less money than we do, and Celia is adamant that Emelia not take any tessera, so Roma works hard in the mines and chopping wood so she might one day not have to worry about starving and selling her body to that repugnant man.

As revolting as he is, even Cray knows how terrifying the Reaping is for us and knows his bounds. He actually wished me good luck this morning as I sold him a few bottles, reassuring me that my name was only in there few times compared to many others, and gave me a few extra coins.

I startle as Mum enters the bathroom, smiling at me.

"It's time to go," She says. She's never let any of us see her scared or frightened, she's our rock when Dad has a bad day or night, so when she tells me this, her tone cool and her smile genuine, I calm down and feel the terror subside slightly.

I nod and smile at her on my way out of the bathroom and she gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

We all head down the stairs and out of the shop together, Dad somewhat reluctantly. They all give me one final hug before I leave them to get processed. I turn to them when I reach the back of the line.

Mum's at Dad's side, their arms entwined, Ronan's at the other side, his shoulder being used as an arm rest by Dad. Though they aren't close, he allows it probably because he doesn't trust Dad on his own two feet. Roma's by Ronan's side, and hold Celia's hand as her family stand outside their shop also.

A prick of blood later and I'm standing with the other 18 year old girls in our roped off area. I stand with Emelia who grabs my hand and looks somewhat excited. I smile back at her.

"Rigby, this is it!" She whispers, squeezing my hand.

This is our last Reaping where we'll be eligible to compete, and with neither of us taking any tessera, we're liking our chances. We've been talking about this night for months, both of our families have food prepared at home for a feast tonight to celebrate being out of danger. It also means Roma and Celia can be official, so I'm quite content.

Guilt runs through me however, as I remember that two families are going to be closed in their homes tonight, mourning their children who are likely never to return.

An exuberantly dressed woman taps on the microphone, bringing me out of my daze as the crowd hushes to silence. I assume she must be District 12's new escort. Ajax Allardyce, our last escort, made quite the show last year when he tripped and fell of the stage. He broke his arm, and on a day such as this, it was quite amusing, yet apparently it didn't go down well with the Capitol.

She introduces herself as 'Effie Trinket', yet its obvious she doesn't want to be here. She was probably hoping to get a District that had had a victor in the last 15 years. Yet she holds herself well and as always, with every escort of every district before the actual Reaping, she instructs us to view a presentation of life in the Dark Days, and how the Hunger Games came to be.

I zone out, but Emelia nudges me and points to Effie, who I see is passionately mouthing the words to the presentation, as if she's never heard anything better in her life. We both snicker, her hand squeezing mine as we both revel in this last, humorous spectacle before we lose 2 of our District forever.

"And the fun begins!" She squeals, in that cringe-worthy Capitol accent everyone mocks. "Of course, ladies first!"

Emelia's hand twitches within mine as Effie walks elegantly over to the glass bowl, which holds both our names 7 times.

Her hand enters the glass bowl, and she peers in, trying to decide which piece of paper to choose, despite the fact they're all identical. She finally grasps one between two fingers and walks back to the microphone. She unfolds the paper, squinting in the bright light of the sun to read the name clearly.

"The female tribute is..." She pauses, as if we're all going to start cheering in anticipation or something. "Rigby-Rey Stone!"

For a few seconds I'm confused, not registering that her pink lips have called _my_ name, as I only ever go by 'Rigby'.

Emelia's hand spasms and she turns to me, true shock present in her eyes and I ascertain the true extent of what has just occurred.

It's me.

Fuck.


End file.
